IN an age so distant that the precise
period is unknown, a chieftain named O'Donoghue ruled over the country which
surrounds. the romantic Lough Lean, now called the lake of Killarney. Wisdom,
beneficience, and justice distinguished his reign, and the prosperity and
happiness of his subjects were their natural results. He is said to have been
as renowned for his warlike exploits as for his pacific virtues ; and as a
proof that his domestic administration was not the less rigorous because it
was mild, a rocky island is pointed out to strangers, called "
O'Donoghue's Prison," in which this prince once confined his own son for
some act of disorder and disobedience.

His end - for it cannot correctly be
called his death - was singular and mysterious. At one of those splendid
feasts for which his court was celebrated, surrounded by the most
distinguished of his subjects, he was engaged in - a prophetic relation of the
events which were to happen in ages yet to come. His auditors listened, now
wrapt in wonder, now fired with indignation, burning with shame, or melted
into sorrow, as he faithfully detailed the heroism, the injuries, the crimes,
and the miseries of their descendants. In the midst of his predictions he rose
slowly from his seat, advanced with a solemn, measured, and majestic tread to
the shore of the lake, and walked forward composedly upon its unyielding
surface. When he had nearly reached the centre, he paused for a moment, then
turning slowly round, looked towards his friends, and waving his arms to them
with the cheerful air of one taking a short farewell, disappeared from their
view.

The memory of the good O'Donoghue has
been. cherished by successive generations with affectionate reverence: and it
is believed that at sunrise, on every May-day morning, the anniversary of his
departure, he revisits his ancient domains: a favoured few only are in general
permitted to see him, and this distinction is always an omen of good fortune
to the beholders: when it is granted to many, it is a sure token of an
abundant harvest, - a blessing, the want of which during this prince's reign
was never felt by his people.

Some years have elapsed since the last
appearance of O'Donoghue. The April of that year had been remarkably wild and
stormy; but on May-morning the fury of the elements had altogether subsided.
The air was hushed and still; and the sky, which was reflected in the serene
lake, resembled a beautiful but deceitful countenance, whose smiles, after the
most tempestuous emotions, tempt the stranger to believe that it belongs to a
soul which no passion has ever ruffled.

The first beams of the rising sun were
just gilding the lofty summit of Glenaa, when the waters near the eastern
shores of the lake became suddenly and violently agitated, though all the rest
of its surface lay smooth and still as a tomb of polished marble; the next
moment a foaming wave darted forward, and, like a proud high-crested
war-horse, exulting in his strength, rushed across the lake towards Toomies
mountain.

Behind this wave appeared a stately
warrior fully armed, mounted upon a milk-white steed; his snowy plume waved
gracefully from a helmet of polished steel, and at his back fluttered a light
blue scarf. The horse, apparently exulting in his noble burden, sprang after
the wave along the water, which bore him up like firm earth, while showers of
spray that glittered brightly in the morning sun were dashed up at every
bound.

The warrior was O'Donoghue; he was
followed by numberless youths and maidens, who moved lightly and unconstrained
over the watery plain, as the moonlight fairies glide through the fields of
air; they were linked together by garlands of delicious spring flowers, and
they timed their movements to strains of enchanting melody.

When O'Donoghue had nearly reached the
western side of the lake, he suddenly turned his steed, and directed his
course along the wood-fringed shore of Glenaa, preceded by the huge wave that
curled and foamed up as high as the horse's neck, whose fiery nostrils snorted
above it. The big train of attendants followed with playful deviations the
track of their leader, and moved on with unabated fleetness to their celestial
music, till gradually, as they entered the narrow strait between Glenaa and
Dinis, they became involved in the mists which still partially floated over
the lakes, and faded from the view of the wondering behoIders: but the sound
of their music still fellupon the ear, and echo, catching up the
harmonious strains, fondly repeated and prolonged them in soft and softer
tones, till the last faint repetition died away, and the hearers awoke as from
a dream of bliss.

****

Thierna
na Oge, or the country of Youth, is the
name given to the foregoing section, from the belief that those who dwell in
regions of enchantment beneath the water are not affected by the movements of
time.